Title: Lost Souls, Part III: Plus Profound
Author: Jamie
Email: madjm@mac.com

Category: AU Logan/Marie. Some angstin' going on.
Rating: R for language and adult situations.
Disclaimer: X-Men and its characters are owned by a bunch of people. Sadly, I'm not one of them, or I'd have money. But I don't, so please don't sue me. Title and lyrics come from Hooverphonic, off their "a new stereophonic sound spectacular" CD.
Summary: Marie learns some things and starts to lose her grip. Come on, you saw this coming, right? She also shakes her groove thang, and it ain't pretty. LOL.

~~~~

It enters your veins
it enters your soul
it tries to obsess you
it looks for defaults
Try not to lose
not to lose control
It tries to destroy you
it tries to tear you down
Am I lost in your backyard
Feel the pain
yellow takes over
yellow takes over
~~ Hooverphonic

He had claws.

Marie was sure there were other thoughts trying to work their way through her brain, but she was stuck on a single one.

He had claws.

Big freaking metal claws that came out of his hands. Blades. Knives. Out of his knuckles like claws, and damn, wouldn't that have to hurt?

The other bar patrons, quiet for a full five minutes after he left, finally returned to their chatting and flirting and lying and cussing. Of course, the only thing anybody wanted to talk about was the guy with the claws.

You and your mutie freak boyfriend. That's what the guy had said, and Marie figured he was paying more attention than most. More than she had. All the little things she'd picked up but never put together coalesced into the full picture. A mutant, of course. And he'd want to keep it quiet, the way the anti-mutant forces were growing in number and flexing their collective muscles.

But he'd revealed himself. To keep her safe. And now he probably thought she was ... what? Frightened? Disgusted?

Shit.

Marie hopped off the bar stool, pushing past the crowd that lingered around the bar, and raced out the door. Even down the street, she could hear his truck starting. She sprinted toward the motel parking lot, desperately jumping in front of the truck before he could pull onto the street. He slammed on the brakes, stopping just before he plowed her into roadkill.

Marie blew out a shaky breath while the Momma-voice lectured her on the dangers of playing in traffic.

"Get the hell out of my way."

Well, he was back to his surly self, wasn't he? Not that she could blame him.

She started to go to his window, then paused, staying in front of the truck. No need to tempt him into driving away without her, was there?

"You said you'd give me a ride to Anchorage."

He was quiet for so long she thought maybe he hadn't heard her. Finally, he backed the truck up and pulled into the parking space in front of her room, leaving the engine running. She followed slowly, coming to stand in front of him as he got out of the truck.

She wasn't sure what to say, and it was his turn to talk, damn it.

"I thought ..." he started, then sighed. "We'll need to leave now. They probably called the cops."

"It's not illegal to be ..." She wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. "Different."

"It may not be illegal -- yet -- but it ain't wise to be 'different' in these parts."

She nodded. "I'll get Fred." She stopped at the door and looked back at him. "Don't leave without us. Please."

"Hurry up."

She took that to mean he would wait, but she still rushed to throw her things into the duffel and followed Fred out the door in less than a minute.

"All set," she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

They drove in silence for 15 or 20 minutes before she dared to speak. "Logan ..."

"Yes."

"I wanted to ask you something." Marie ran her hands over Fred's coat and considered the best way to phrase her question. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him.

"I said yes," he snapped. "I'm a mutant."

"Duh," she snapped back before she could think better of it. "I thought we'd established that by the whole ... snikt thing." She imitated the sound the blades made and formed her fingers into claws.

Logan chuckled. "Then what did you want to know?"

"What ... what kind of mutation is that?" she asked. "I've never even heard of anything like it before."

"That's not really my mutation," he said. "They grafted metal onto my skeleton, and apparently decided to add some claws for good measure while they were at it."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Government, military? Who knows?"

"You don't remember?"

He sighed. "I woke up in the woods. Eighteen or so years ago. I didn't remember anything except my name. And I don't even know if that's real. I've been trying to find out what happened, but I'm not really getting anywhere."

"I can't imagine anyone could live through that." She stared at him, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have metal running through your body. Trying to imagine what it would be like to lose your past. As many times as she'd tried to lose hers, it stuck around as stubbornly as a shadow, matching her every move.

"Well, my mutation ... my 'gift' is super-healing ability."

"You say that like you don't believe it," she said. He looked at her blankly. "That it's a gift," she explained.

"That's what ... some people I know call our mutations. Gifts. I think that's a crock of shit." Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"When they come out ... does it hurt?"

He flexed his fingers and stared at his knuckles for a moment. "Every time," he answered quietly.

She suddenly wanted to cry. For the first time in ages, she didn't want to cry for herself or her own losses or mistakes. She wanted to cry for this man. The fact that she cared frightened her. That was part of the new Marie. No caring. Not about anyone. Fred got past her defenses when she wasn't looking, but she couldn't take caring about anyone else. It was too painful when they left. Because they always did.

Logan cleared his throat. "I thought you'd ... you, uh, don't seem scared."

"Of what?"

"Of me."

"Oh." It never actually occurred to her to be scared of him. "I figure you could've hurt me any time in the past couple days if you wanted to."

"I guess. I wouldn't, though."

"I know." And she did. It was a little crazy, though. Maybe she was a mutant, too, and just didn't know it yet. She seemed so comfortable with them; maybe mutation was just a state of mind.

He fell silent again, so she spoke. "I always thought it'd be cool to be a mutant."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I knew this guy in Chicago ... 'bout a year ago. Johnny. He could make fire, like, out of thin air. I thought that would be a kick-ass power to have."

"Gift," he said sarcastically.

"Right. A kick-ass gift. Of course, knowing me, I'd probably accidentally torch something and get arrested for arson."

"It ain't all fun and games," he said seriously. "Being a mutant ... people hate you."

"Yeah. We always hate what we don't understand, I guess." She didn't tell him about the long talks she'd had with Johnny. He'd told her about his parents, how they'd kicked him out at the first manifestation of his power. Their own son. A freak. They couldn't deal, and he was on his own.

She'd felt a connection with Johnny. She'd even told him the truth about herself. Parts of it, anyway. Her parents had disappointed her, too. Disappointed her with their disappointment in her. Hey, she'd wanted to say, you made me what I am today. Aren't you proud? Her Momma-voice was pretty silent on this topic. As usual.

She put in a new CD to drive the thoughts away. Save Ferris, and she could tell Logan hated it even though he did't say a word. Fred, however, liked the CD, and he sat up between them, wagging his tail.

"What is he doing?"

"He likes this CD," she explained.

"Uh-huh."

"Either that, or he has to pee."

"Well ..." Logan trailed off and hit the brakes. Fred crashed into the dashboard with a yelp and Marie gasped as her seat belt yanked the breath out of her.

"What the ..." Marie drew Fred into her lap. He didn't seem to be hurt and was even wagging his tail again. Logan unhooked his seat belt and hopped out of the truck. "Logan, what --"

She looked up then, and the sight made her catch her breath. Three cars, or what was left of them, were twisted into a mass of metal along the road. Two people, bruised and scratched, were trying to help someone out of one of the other cars. Logan ran over to help them.

Breathe, Marie. Breathe.

Suddenly, hyperventilation seemed like a possibility. She pushed Fred off her lap and unsnapped her seat belt, dropping her head between her knees. It's OK don't think don't think about it don't think, it's OK. She forced herself to breathe normally and slowly lifted her head, just as Logan went around to the back of the camper.

Marie shakily got out of the truck, shutting Fred inside. She ignored his whines and went back to Logan.

He climbed out of the back with two blankets. "Here." He shoved them into her arms. "There's a woman. She's hurt. She needs these. Over here."

He snapped out the orders like a military officer, and she followed him wordlessly. The other two men were still trying to get another person out. She stumbled a little at the sight of the woman on the ground, but she kept following Logan.

Don't think don't think don't think don't think. She tried to put something else in her mind and came up with a song. Do a deer a female deer, re a drop of golden sun, mi a name I

"Marie!" Logan waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you OK?"

She tried to answer him, but she couldn't find the words.

mi a name I call myself, fa a long long way to run

"Marie? Snap out of it. She needs help, damn it."

She nodded and dropped to her knees, tucking the blankets around the woman on the ground. She was in her 30s with curly blond hair matted with blood. Her round face was streaked with tears. Marie wanted to smile at her, but she couldn't remember how.

"You're gonna be OK," she whispered, hoping she sounded convincing.

There is nothing like a dame, nothing in the world, there is nothing you can name, that is anything like a dame

"What's your name?" the woman asked, her voice rasping.

Marie wondered if she had internal injuries. "Marie," she answered. "What's yours?"

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you

"Alice," she said. "Am I dying?"

God. Don't think don't think don't think. "You're gonna be OK," she repeated.

Happy talkin' talkin' happy talk, talk about things you like to do

"OK," Alice said.

Marie tried to pray, but she couldn't remember how to do that, either. How could she remember the words to all these damn songs and not remember how to smile? How to pray? She remembered sitting on the couch with her Momma, watching musicals, and the way Momma would sing along in her beautiful voice and not mind if Marie sang, too, in her terrible one.

Don't think don't think don't think. Just pray. You used to do it all the time. How did that go? She couldn't remember, so she settled on one word.

Please.

***

The ambulance came and went, and they said Alice was going to be fine. They weren't as sure about her husband, who'd been in the car with her.

Marie wasn't so sure about herself, either. She sat in the truck, rocking back and forth, as Logan told the police what little he knew about the crash. She would be all right if she could just shove it all -- memories, mistakes, fears -- back into the little box she kept in her head. If she could just get them all back in and shove the lid down, she would be fine. Trouble was, once they got out, they were stubborn about going back in.

Logan got in the truck. "You OK?" he asked. "Marie?"

"I'm fine," she lied, surprised at how convincingly it slid out. "I ... I have a thing about blood. I was scared."

He reached out and touched her shoulder, waiting until she looked at him.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just tired."

"The cop said there's a motel in a couple miles," he said finally, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll stop there."

She nodded and cuddled Fred closer on her lap. Do a deer a female deer, re a drop of golden sun

***

He didn't ask this time, just paid for a room and carried her bag for her.

"Get some sleep," he said gently before leaving, and she wanted him to stay but he didn't offer and she couldn't make herself ask. She knew he was just next door; he couldn't stay in the camper until he got some new blankets.

She didn't tell him that sleep would be a bad idea because that opened it all up, and she wasn't ready to go there with him. She wasn't ready to tell anyone about the Red Dream, though she thought he might understand. He'd probably understand all of it, but she just couldn't take the chance of opening herself up to him. To anyone.

She watched late night talk shows and infomercials and tried to stay awake. But she'd had an exhausting couple of days, and it caught up with her.

It was the Red Dream, like she knew it would be. Everything was red. The sky, the road, the car, her mother. The words coming out of her Momma's mouth were red, too, an angry red. They flew across the front seat of the car and into her like shards of red glass, leaving her with scarlet ribbons of blood over her red clothes. And then it was real glass, and metal, and the sound of the crash was so red it hurt her ears and made them bleed. And she saw her Momma, and she knew. She knew the truth about what she did, about what she was, and she screamed and screamed, and the screams were the reddest thing of all.

"Marie! Wake up, Marie. It's a dream. You're OK, honey, wake up."

It was Logan. It was Logan and she had the Red Dream, and couldn't he see it on her? What she was? What she'd done? She tried to shove him away, but he wouldn't move.

"You're OK," he repeated. "It was just a dream."

"No," she said hysterically. "No. I killed her. I killed them both. It's all red now." Then she burst into tears.

Logan held her as she cried, and if she'd been able to think clearly she would have been embarrassed at slobbering and crying all over his bare chest. She ever fell apart in front of people. Never.

She was doing a lot of things lately that she "never" did. That was going to have to stop.

Finally, she got herself under control and pushed away from him. Then she noticed the door, standing wide open, nearly off its hinges. The doorknob was completely gone, and she thought she spied claw marks in the door.

She laughed shakily. "They're gonna make you pay for that," she said weakly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "Yeah. It was just a bad dream."

***

Logan paid for the door. Marie didn't know how much it cost. Didn't care, really. All she cared about was putting all the little pieces of herself back together before something even more terrible seeped through the cracks.

She just needed some time alone, but it didn't look like she was going to get it.

"Marie?" Logan knocked gently at the bathroom door. "Are you OK in there?"

She stared at herself in the mirror and combed through wet hair. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to manufacture a normal voice. Whatever that sounded like. "I'm fine, Logan. I'll be out in a minute."

The manager had requested that they leave immediately, but she wanted a shower first, and she doubted the short, chubby man was about to take Logan on over a few minutes' delayed departure. Still, they needed to get going. The sooner they got to Anchorage, the sooner she could leave Logan behind. And then she'd have still more memories and regrets to ignore.

When she thought she looked relatively normal, she pushed open the door. Logan stopped in mid-pace. She smiled faintly and shoved the rest of her things into her duffel bag. "We always seem to be leavin' in a hurry," she said lightly. "That normal for you?"

"Only since I met you, darlin'," he said. "Are you --"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice strained. "A little tired of bein' asked the same question, though."

"Let's go, then."

She almost thought she'd hurt his feelings, and she didn't want that. "I'm just cranky, sugar," she said. "That nightmare ... does it to me every time."

They got in the truck under the motel manager's watchful eye. Marie almost laughed. Was he thinking they were going to steal the threadbare towels or the butt-ugly still life? Maybe he thought she was going to take the puke-colored bedspread as a souvenir of her time there.

As they left the parking lot, Logan spoke again. "I've got nightmares, too. Some doozies."

She wanted to ask what his were like, but she didn't really want to explain her own, so she just hummed in response.

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"It was just a nightmare, Logan. No big deal."

A moment later, he tried again. "You said ... you killed her. Obviously, there's something --"

"It's a dream about when my Momma got killed," she said flatly. "It was a car wreck. I was there. I dream about it." Leave it alone. Please don't ask me any more about it.

"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think you've been watching too many daytime talk shows, Logan," she said, annoyed. Why couldn't he just drop it? "I don't need you to go all Oprah on my ass. Just drop it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

***

They got to Anchorage that evening, and they checked into a small but decent motel. Marie refused his offer to pay. She thought she needed to get a job soon and decide what she was going to do. She was finally here, yet she felt nothing as they entered the city limits. She should have felt something, but there was just a big emptiness inside her and too many thoughts in her head.

"Do you ... can I buy you dinner?" Logan asked.

"I'm really tired. I'd rather sleep than eat."

He nodded. "OK. Can I take Fred with me? There's a park not too far away. He'd probably like to run some."

Marie nodded, blinking back tears as she watched the two head for the truck together. Fred jumped excitedly around Logan and didn't look back. He wouldn't even miss her. Which was fine, because it's not like he was her dog, anyway. She thought maybe she should just give him to Logan, since the two got along so well, but she wasn't sure she could.

A tear escaped her eye, and she brushed it off angrily. Now she was getting all weepy over a damn dog. She went in her room and flopped on the bed. What she wanted was some time to herself, and now that she had it, she couldn't quite handle it.

She hadn't realized how much she'd come to depend on Fred: hogging the bed, trying to crowd himself onto her lap, running around and jumping like an idiot, panting his doggy breath in her face, making her laugh.

She was pathetic.

She focused on the fact that she was in Anchorage. The city she'd wanted to visit since Uncle Phil came back from a trip with trays of slides when she was 11 years old. All the adults had tired of seeing the pictures, but Marie watched slide after slide, fascinated by this beautiful place. Then she asked to see them again. On her birthday a few months later, Uncle Phil had sent her a gorgeous hardbound book about Alaska. It was the one thing she wanted to bring on her trip that she couldn't fit in her bag.

So she was here, finally, after meandering her way around the States for nearly two years. She wasn't sure what she expected to find. Forgiveness? Sudden inspiration? A new outlook on life?

She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd settle for some sleep.

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